


Fever Dream

by TheDeadlyViper



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Graphic Depictions of Illness, M/M, Vomiting, feverfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 14:55:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16369754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDeadlyViper/pseuds/TheDeadlyViper
Summary: Another friggin' feverfic. I don't know.





	Fever Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Builder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/gifts).



> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> *Go for words inspired by 'fever' <3*

Bucky isn’t entirely too concerned, when he’d woken at the start of the day with a throat that’s dry and a tickle that no amount of clearing can dislodge. Considerably more

worrying is the slight pounding in his head. In his experience, a headache is never the herald of good news. Steve, notices, of course, the speed at which Bucky comes to the

breakfast table. He also doesn’t miss the coughing and throat clearing.

“You okay? Sounds like you’re gettin’ sick.” He comments as he spoons up a mouthful of sugary breakfast cereal.

“Mm.” Bucky mumbles. Bucky’s doing that thing again. The thing where it’s almost impossible to tell what’s going through his mind because the only response is little more

than a noise. That makes Steve stand up and go to his lover’s side.

“Buck, look at me.” Steve says and Bucky puts down his spoon and tilts his head back because he knows what’s coming. Steve lifts a huge hand and presses his knuckles

lightly against Bucky’s face. He’s a little warm, but it’s still early and he’d only just been wrapped underneath the comforter in bed. He tongues his cheek thoughtfully. Then

says,

“If you want me to - “ He starts to say and Bucky shakes his head. He already knows what the question is. And the answer is a resounding, ‘no.’ If there’s anything worse

than trying to fight off whatever is coming his way, it’s trying to fight it while Steve breathes down the back of his neck. For all his loving concern, he is, at times, suffocating.

As soon as Steve is gone, he pours himself a glass of some cran-apple-razz something and plucks up a box of tissue from the nightstand in the bedroom. Flopping

down on the couch, he flips on the tv for noise and tries to nap. By late afternoon, the tickle in his throat has turned into a full-blown painful cough. His head is throbbing and

his nose is running like a damn faucet. By the time Steve comes home again, all the symptoms have colluded into some sort of masterpiece of misery. When Steve walks in

the door he’s suspicious of the quiet. He glances over at the sofa and is greeted by the sight of a great mound of blanket which he suspects his boyfriend is under.

Somewhere.

“Buck?” He asks as he kicks his shoes off. Bucky shifts and swallows uncomfortably at the sound of Steve’s voice and pushes the comforter he’d rolled himself into down.

Above him is Steve’s sweet, concerned face. “You okay?” Bucky pulls himself into half-way sitting and blows out a puff of breath to get the damp strands of hair from in front

of his face. Then immediately breaks into a coughing fit that tears at his lungs.

“Hurts.” He mutters, when he’s able to suck in a breath. He rubs absently at the spot in his sternum where the pain is most intense.

“Sounds like it.” Steve says as he crouches down to be on his level. He does a repeat of that morning, holding Bucky’s face in one hand to gauge his temperature. Which has

gone up considerably. He sighs as he pulls away and says,

“How ‘bout I make you some soup an’ we watch a movie or somethin’?” Bucky nods and reaches for one of the tissues. While Steve is busying himself in the kitchen, Bucky

settles back underneath to shiver in the dim underneath the comforter. He only moves when he feels Steve nudging him.

“C’mon, Buck. Time to eat.” He says and Bucky gives a mild groan before hoisting himself up again. Steve’s made grilled cheese sandwiches to go with the chicken soup. But

he can only manage a couple of bites of sandwich and a few sips of the soup before he’s pushing it away. Steve gives him a sympathetic smile.

“Upset stomach?” He asks. Bucky nods, but reaches for his empty glass.

“Can I havb bmore juice?” He asks in that congested way, that would have been cute if he weren't so ill.

“Course.” Steve murmurs as he takes the empty glass and plants a light kiss on his cheek. When he pulls away, Bucky’s frowning and again, silent communication shoots

between them at lightspeed. The frown says that he doesn’t want Steve kissing him and coming down whatever he’s got. The apologetic shrug that Steve gives back says that

he didn’t care if Bucky had the damn plague, he’d kiss him anyway. When Steve returns with the glass of juice, he gets himself back down on the sofa and plops a

decorative pillow into his lap. Then coaxes Bucky over to curl up on it. He flips idly through the channels until he settles on the Edited-For-TV version of the Dark Knight Rises

on FX. As the movie plays, he runs his fingers carefully through Bucky’s dark hair and within minutes, his sick boyfriend is out cold. Bucky only wakes when the credits are

rolling and if possible, feels worse than ever.

“Bed?” Steve asks quietly as he flips off the TV. Bucky nods and doesn’t hesitate when Steve stands up and slips one arm under his knee and the other around his back and

carries him off into the bedroom. The second Steve gets him all settled and crawls in beside him, he clings to the blonde, desperate to siphon off some of his body heat. Steve

holds him, despite the fact that Bucky’s entire body seems to have transformed into a puddle of sweat. Now that they are in the place that was designed

for it, he can't sleep. The bed is too cold. His body is too hot. He’s all wet. The coughs disturb him every time he squeezes his eyes shut. On top of all that is nausea beginning

to make his stomach churn. He so doesn’t want to throw up. The sheer energy it would take to get himself in the bathroom is simply unimaginable. Just as he’s started

focusing on that particular thought, he starts to hack again, into Steve’s t-shirt. It goes on for so long that Steve shifts up underneath him.

“Sit up, Buck.” He murmurs. As soon as Bucky’s upright and leaning against the headboard, Steve thumps him on the back gently, trying to help him loosen the gunk clogged

up in his lungs. It backfires when he gags. He clamps a hand across his mouth and gives Steve a panicked look and Steve responds quickly, rolling out bed and getting the

trash can from the bathroom and running it back to him. By the time Steve gets the thing underneath him, Bucky’s face is bright red and he’s got tears running down his face

from the effort it’s taking him to keep from coughing.

“Okay, here. You’re alright.” The blonde says and reaches for the hair and Bucky finally lets himself hack and cough until he heaves again. Then throws up. Steve pats his

back comfortingly a couple of times when he’s breaking back into coughing. For a while, it’s a cycle. Cough. Heave. Cough. Heave. When at last it stops, he’s gasping for

breath, almost choking. Steve’s pats turn into soothing rubbing to try and help him coax the oxygen back into his lungs.

“You’re okay. Just breathe.” He murmurs and reaches over for the Kleenex, so Bucky can wipe his mouth and blow his nose. That done, the ex-assassin drops the crumpled

tissue on top of the mess and Steve sets the trash can aside.

“You okay?” Bucky nods mutely. If he’s being honest, he actually feels a little better for having vomited. Most of what he’d thrown up had been the mucus he’d been sucking

back and swallowing for the majority of the day and he feels better for having gotten it out. Steve gives a nod and then settles back down onto his back, holding out an arm

so that Bucky can snuggle himself up in the space next to his side. Steve’s worry only increases, over the next hour or so. Curled up on his shoulder, Bucky’s body heat just

rises and rises and shaking chills are setting in. Bucky’s not sure if he’s awake or not. He’s so, so cold and his back hurts and for a minute, he's sure it's because he's

strapped down to an ice cold examination table. Then he hears Steve’s voice. Or at least, he thinks he does. And Steve is saying, “I’ll be right back.” There’s movement

around him and he can’t help groaning at the motion. He isn’t able to make sense of it at first, when there’s movement again and he’s being lifted. His head spins and the

dark shadow with the voice that sounds a lot like Steve is telling him to do something.

“ _...your mouth, Buck. Hold it under your tongue._ ” And then there’s a hard object sliding between his lips. He’s not ready for it and he gags when it touches his throat. He spits

it out unintentionally. Then feels searing warmth on the back of his neck.

 _“Please.”_ The voice is so frantic that Bucky forcibly makes the command make sense. Under his tongue. So that when the object is slid into his mouth again, he shifts it under

his tongue and holds it there. Warmth around him. Warmth and a slight rocking motion and warmth on the side of his face. He lets his eyes slide close until the beeping noise

stirs him and the hard thing under his tongue is removed. “ _...no. Oh, jesus chri…”_ the voice is rising in panic again. It sounds afraid. Bucky’s afraid too. He’s afraid because he

knows the hurting is punishment. Everything hurts so bad. He’s weak. He must have done something. Something wrong. To feel so badly. Steve thinks quickly and shifts

Bucky back down, onto his side, before booking it into the bathroom and starting the water running in the tub. He already feels guilty. It’s been over seventy years and even

that isn’t enough to wipe away the memory of painful ice baths when his fever had risen too high. “M’so sorry, Buck.” He says as he scoops up the bundle of fevered ex-

assassin. He hadn’t gotten the temperature more than room temp, but given his state, even that is going to be enough to make this a truly awful experience. He’s not sure if

Bucky has even heard him or understands. He only responds with a groan and shiver as Steve carries the man, limp as a ragdoll into the bathroom. And then Steve is carefully

lowering him down into the water. As soon as his back hits the water, he jolts, as sure as if he’d been hit with livewire and he tries to squirm free. “M’sorry!” Steve almost

whines as he holds him down. “You’re so sick!” Bucky shivers hard in Steve’s arms and he can hear Bucky’s teeth clicking together, but the fight seems to go out of him at

once. He sputters and coughs into Steve’s shoulder. Worst of all, a second later, Steve cups water in his hand and lets it run down his back and then he stops moving

entirely. Head dipped forward, wet, dark strands of hair hanging in front of his face. And Steve is worried that he’d gone on some form of default auto-compliance. Steve

times out the minutes and it feels like it’s been an eternity before he leans back and pulls a bath towel off the rack to wrap around Bucky’s shoulders. When he gets his sick

boyfriend settled on the bed once more, Bucky still won’t speak. His fever has gone down at least a couple of degrees, back into the realms of safety. But Steve is worried

that he’s already lost touch with his surroundings and that he’s just too afraid to speak. He desperately tries to think of something, anything, that will be grounding. Might bring

him back into awareness. What he comes up with is a book that is tucked away into the bookshelf, it’s spine worn and cracked by time. Steve settles himself at Bucky’s bedside

and starts to read,

_‘The cold passed slowly from the earth, and the lifting dawn revealed an army stretched across the hills, resting. As the hillsides changed from brown to green, the army awakened and began to tremble with eagerness at the talk of battle…’_

Bucky shifts a little, underneath the comfort and a slow smile spreads over his features as he recognizes the words that are so familiar. It’s familiar because he’d often been

the one, reading it to Steve when he’d been laid up in bed, feverish with walking pneumonia or some such thing. It had been Steve’s favorite book, long before either of them

had come to understand what the words truly meant. Finally, Bucky lets out something like a sigh of relief as his body relaxes under the spell of Steve’s steady voice.


End file.
